Likewise, the twenty-odd swords Wang Xian had unleashed suddenly twisted in the face of Dugu Mou's protective astral energy, their force fading to nothing.
The old man flew backward dozens of yards, then landed steadily on the ground.
Qin Wentian, watching from atop the city wall, shuddered. As expected, his opponent was no pushover.
He thought that if he were in Wang Xian's place, he would have fallen beneath the prince's sword long ago.
Even without being there himself, he could feel the vastness of that Sword Qi—its sheer terror. It was a sword that stole lives and hunted down souls.
Yet the old man across from him had weathered it.
Beneath the moonlight, Wang Xian furrowed his brow slightly and said nothing as he watched Dugu Mou in the distance.
If the old man were easy to deal with, he would not have survived this long.
Fortunately, Wang Xian was in no hurry. With the demonic sword in hand, he would leave the old man on this wasteland tonight, no matter how much effort it took.
The spiritual energy of heaven and earth converged from every direction, forming armor around him. It, too, ignored the old man's life-taking sword.
Now it came down to who was more ruthless.
Or rather, who dared to risk their life and fight to the death.
The moonlight was dim and serene. The sword marks Wang Xian and Dugu Mou had carved through the air stopped three feet before their opponent.
To Qin Wentian and Hua Mantian, watching from the western side of the city, it looked as though the old man and the young man were laying an invisible sword formation before each other as they fought.
But the enormous, terrifying pit on the wasteland left Qin Wentian and Hua Mantian aghast.